


Says the dandelion to the roses

by cameliae



Series: Roses and dandelions [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Fix-It, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Apologizes, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Light Angst, M/M, Misunderstandings, Pining, Post-Episode: S01E06 Rare Species, but lambert is even worse, no beta we die like jaskier doesn't, there is a veeery mildly dubious consent but nothing to worry about i promise, valdo marx is a very prick in this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:47:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24744058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cameliae/pseuds/cameliae
Summary: Valdo yawns, “He knew that too! He was actually on the way here, but he then turned back when I told him that you died in some ditch or something. He shouldn't have left you alone, after all! And, Julian dear, you should have seen his face, he was devasted. I thought that Witchers were mutants with no emotions, but let me tell you, your Wolf had the word pain written all over his face.”“Oh. Oh, Valdo, you didn't. You didn't really tell Geralt that I fucking died!”Valdo tells Geralt that Jaskier is dead. It's up to Jaskier, now, to make things right.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Roses and dandelions [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1915450
Comments: 39
Kudos: 879





	Says the dandelion to the roses

Oxenfurt is as chaotic as always, even when the summer is disappearing behind their back to leave its place to the cold, bitter autumn. Jaskier has made peace with himself, and he is sure that he will spend the rest of his life here, as the professor they always begged him to be – though, Gods, he does feel the pull the road is taking to his soul, calling him as a temptation too easy to get but too heartbreaking to accept.

It hurts like bitch taking his lessons and trying not to think about what he has given up. The hard soil he slept on when they were forced to camp in the middle of a forest, or the fleas–infested beds they accepted to share in order to not spend too much coin for two separate rooms in a shitty inn, the junk and the monsters guts he sometimes had to wash himself into after his companion had a very earned bath the moment he finished hunting a very bad and stinky creature.

He must be insane, but he misses it all.

Oh, who wants to make fun of? It's _obvious_ that it's not those things he really misses.

After his lessons, he takes as an habit to spend the evening in Essi's company in the university's common room, drinking his sorrows away and chatting about his heartbreak without loosing too much of the little bit of dignity he still has. Essi, the angel she always is, listens to him as she does every winter, sipping her ale and giving him all her attention.

This time, though, they have an unwanted guests at their usual table.

“Oh, my sweet Essi, I see you are as beautiful as ever, time is still so clement with you. And Julian, oh Julian, you too. Mediocre as ever!”

Essi sighs, “Valdo.”

Jaskier doesn't even grant him of a greeting, his eyes on Essi's blond head as her fair hair has more importance than Valdo fucking Marx's presence. Damn, he hoped that at least this time he has stayed in Cidaris for the winter, considering how late he has come in Oxenfurt. Alas, nothing is going as it should. This year is the worst Jaskier's ever had.

He hears Valdo taking a seat at their table without waiting for an invitation, and just in that moment Jaskier glances at him. He still wears those ugly suits he always has the courage to walk into, and his dark long hair are – ugh – still long and wavy. There is a fake pained expression on his face, and oh how he longed to grab the dagger Geralt gifted him years ago and–

And then he winces, when he thinks of Geralt. Valdo's presence is already bad enough, he doesn't need to dig his own grave yet.

“You both have no idea what happened to me, my friends. It's the cause I had to delay my arriving, but thanks to Melitele I survived and now I am here to grant you with my lastest adventure.”

“Don't tell me, Valdo.” Jaskier says, his voice sweet. He probably needs more ale if he has to listen Valdo's inexistent adventures for the next hour or so. “Your aesthetically ugly tunic got stuck in a tree and you had to go back to your super duper famous personal tailor before you deign us with your umpleasant presence. We heard this before, it got old.”

“Not at all, my friend.” Jaskier shivers, being called his _friend_. Ugh. “I had a dangerous encounter with drowners not so far from Oxenfurt. Did you know, Essi, about a nest full of them on the way here? Who know how many people weren't as fortunate as me!”

Jaskier rolls his eyes, “What a bed luck you weren't one of them!”

Essi snorts in her ale, and Valdo makes those beautiful outraged noises Jaskier loves so much – ah, yes, this is music for his ears.

“You will be even less smug when I'll tell you _how_ I survived.”

“I am already sad you didn't, Valdo. No need to be so cruel.”

“Ohw,” Essi bats his arm to shut him up, but she is still cleary laughing, “let him talk, Julian. C'mon, Valdo, don't leave us hanging!”

Valdo dramatically sighs, and brings one of his hands against his chest, “My dear, it was a terrible experience. It was my first time I've seen them so close, and oh they are so ugly and they smell so disgustingly I almost throw up, and not just out of fear. But alas,” and in that moment, Valdo's smile turns into a sneer as he locks his eyes in Jaskier's, “thank the Gods there was the mighty White Wolf there to save the day.”

Jaskier freezes, but he forces himself to keep on breathing. He must not let Valdo see how much it _hurts_ , Valdo must not know. Not him, that every single time Geralt has broken his heart, Valdo has taken advantage of it – Valdo must not know that whatever Geralt and he have had, there is no more. But while he continues to stare into his eyes of ice, Jaskier already understands that he is utterly fucked – that Valdo already knows.

“I must say, Julian dear, your stories weren't completely made out as I always thought. He is quite a sight, while slaughtering all of them without even a wince. I confess, I could not be much of help, I just shout to him whenever I saw a drowner dangerously coming too close to his back–”

“Liar.” Jaskier interrupts him, “He hates when someone talks while he hunts.”

“Well. Not me, it seems. You probably are too much of an annoyance, Julian.”

Jaskier narrows his eyes, and says nothing else.

“And what a surprise it was when Geralt of Rivia called me by my name. He knows who I am, it seems! That was a delight to know, after all it's really impossible to never hear about the trobadour of Cidaris, and grieving the bed choices he made when he chooses _you_ , a mediocre bard, to be his travelling companion.”

“He knows about you because once I made a wish to a Djinn to strike you with apoplexy.”

Valdo's sneer wavers. Then he chuckles, “Ouch, you make the worst jokes ever, Julian.”

“Jokes?”

Valdo clears his throat, cleary unconfortable. Good. “Anyway, he didn't even want the money I was offering him, he did save my life after all. He just waved his white hair all around his manly face and then he's gone.”

Essi keeps asking Valdo questions about his rescue, about Geralt, about the drowners. Jaskier stays silent, hoping that his emotions aren't written all over his face – an useless hope, he knows – and their voices become just a static noise in the background. He... wants to go back to his room, now. He doesn't even want to drink anymore. And surely, surely he doesn't want to keep having Valdo Marx around.

But when he blurts out “Did he ask about me?”, all he wants to do is to punch himself.

Gods, he's an idiot. And he has the confirmation the moment Valdo's sneer pops out again, “Oh? Why should he? Doesn't he know where his puppy is?”

Jaskier grits his teeth. Gods, how he wants to _stab_ that awful sneer–

“Did he leave you again, I wonder?” continues Valdo, with a elbow on the table and his fingers drumming against the mug of his ale. “Did he abandon you alone somewhere and you had to come here all by yourself? It is hardly the first time, Julian.”

Essi hisses, “Valdo, stop it now.”

Valdo laughs, but his glacial eyes don't leave him. Jaskier knows what's coming, now – Jaskier would finish his ale, that has now the taste of ashes, and he would kiss Essi goodnight. He would go back to his room, that it's just tree door away from Valdo's, so when he would have enough booze in his belly, Valdo would walk the same corridor but he would stop in front of Jaskier's door, as if it is in his very right to enter his room and – well, take advantage of his broken heart.

Non that Jaskier is against it, mind you. He kind of always searches for this, since the first time Geralt left him in a crossroads without much of a farwell and with the doubt if he ever will see him again after the winter or if he finally decided he had enough. Valdo was – and still is – available to being treated badly and to treat Jaskier bad the same way.

After the dragon hunt, Geralt really had enough. It was two months ago, by now, but his harsh words and the hate in his eyes are so vivid in Jaskier's head that it seems like it has happened just yesterday.

So no one would blame him if he lingers in self pity while Valdo fucking Marx fucks him, right? Geralt has even saved the life of this horrible man, beyond the damage the mockery!

So, losing finally the last bit of dignity he had, Jaskier passes the rest of the winter fucking Valdo. It's not the best sex he's ever had – hardly – but Valdo is glad to take advantage of his masochistic part – his aching part, that wants to be hurt by someone else so he doesn't need to think about who really has broken it. After spending the days teaching his promising students, he still goes to the common room to get high with Essi, and then, when Valdo approaches them, he gets up and goes to bed – and not after an hour or so, Valdo comes. Well, literally, the bastard.

Not that like this he forgets about Geralt, on the contrary.

But at least, Valdo does not let him _think_.

When the snow starts to melt and the flowers start to bloom on the side of the roads, Valdo has to go back to Cidaris, and Jaskier is nothing but happy about that. Yes, he will not have any more distraction of that kind, and he will surely pass the warmer months yearning of better times, when he slept under the stars next to the love of his life, but at least he doesn't have to endure any more of Valdo's presence.

When Valdo comes with an undignified moan during their last night together, Jaskier pulls him out of the way and immediately gets up to wash their spend off his body, “Oh, thank the Gods this is the last time.” he murmurs, grabbing a towel.

Valdo, languidly stretching on the bed, says, “You will miss me, Julian dear.”

“Hardly. I would say that at least I would miss the sex, but it would be terrible unfair to tell a so blutant lie to your face.”

“And then, ah! You do not seem to take your hands off my body!”

“To strangle you, most of the times.”

“Always joking, Julian. You're not funny, nor a comedian, desist.”

Jaskier huffs a exasperated breath through his nose, putting his clothes on and then he turns to look at him, still naked on his bed, still in the afterglow of his climax. He will definitely not miss this moments. “Joking? Who's joking? Anyway, go. You're done.”

“So cold!”

“ _Go._ ”

“Are you so cold with your Wolf too? No wonder that he gets rid of you everytime, Julian. You need to be a better lover, or else people will continue to leave you alone.”

Jaskier winces, but he will not let Valdo win this round. “Would you like another close encounter with my dagger, Valdo?”

“Oh, the dagger your Wolf gave you in hope you would stab yourself? Oh, that face, that face,” Valdo laughs when he sees the sour expression that surely Jaskier has imprinted on his face. Shit, he hates this man so much – and he should hate himself more just because he imposes his presence in his own life just because Geralt doesn't fucking know how to use his words. No, it's not Geralt's fault at all – but it kinda is because he has saved Valdo's life and he is not death thanks to him! Thanks Geralt, for ruining his life! Blessing to take Jaskier out of his hands wasn't enough, it seems! “That face is priceless. Uh, now that we are on the subject, I forgot to tell you a thing or two about my lovely encounter with your Witcher.”

Jaskier blinks, “What?”

“Yes, yes, my bad. I couldn't wait to bed you, so I forgot to tell you part of our conversation. Well, I didn't really forget to _tell_ you something, I just, how should I say it, didn't remember correctly an unimportant part.”

Jaskier pinches the bridge of his nose, “Get to the point , Valdo, then _go_.”

“Do you remember that you questioned me if he asked about you? Oh well, he did! Aren't you happy? But believe me, I was so, so confused about the whole situation and I was, you know, a bit in a shock after surviving an ambush from drowners, that I said to him that I had no idea what happened to you.”

“You– you knew I was here in Oxenfurt!” Jaskier shouts, closing his hands in fists. Oh, oh oh oh this is the time where he kills him with his bare hands, oh it is!

Valdo yawns, “He knew that too! He was actually on the way here, but he then turned back when I told him that you died in some ditch or something. He shouldn't have left you alone, after all! And, Julian dear, you should have seen his face, he was _devasted_. I thought that Witchers were mutants with no emotions, but let me tell you, your Wolf had the word _pain_ written all over his face.”

“Oh. Oh, Valdo, you _didn't._ You didn't really tell Geralt that I fucking died!”

He cannot believe it. He _cannot_. Geralt was coming _here_ , here to Oxenfurt, he was searching for him everywhere and Valdo Marx has told him that he _died_.

Jaskier had made up his mind to stay at Oxenfurt even after the end of the cold months – he had no reason to travel throughout the Continent anymore, if not with Geralt. He could have kept on singing in the taverns of Oxenfurt, although that would have been the same, it would have been enough nonetheless.

But now – now he has to find _Geralt_. And tell him _why_ the fuck did he believe Valdo Marx, is he insane, is he an idiot perhaps? No man with more than one braincell would have listened to this utterly scum of the society, expecially knowing that Jaskier and Valdo hate each others so much. Oh, Gods, what an idiot.

When the first light of the day will appear on the horizon, Jaskier will turn his back to his sedentary life as a professor and search every angle on the Continent to find a very brooding and grieving Witcher. Because whatever he must have said to him up on that mountain, Jaskier knows that Geralt cares for him, in his fucked up way. He would never wanted his demise – Jaskier just knows that now Geralt is wallowing in grief and guilt, and he's not okay with it, at all.

“Valdo, you signed your death sentence. _After_ I find Geralt and solve this misunderstanding, I will have your head on a stick.”

He has no time to sleep, now. He has to get ready for his travel: he has to find a bedroll, and some food and a waterskin. He has also to collect his lute, of course.

While he storms off his own room, he hears Valdo laughs from the bed, “Ah ah, Julian, you always make this horrible jokes but they're not funny at all!”

It is pretty sad that after months on the roads, Jaskier doesn't find a single clue to where the Witcher idiot is hiding. He is hoping that he is not still in that keep up the mountains in the far north, because that would be impossible for him to reach him there.

Nonetheless, he won't lose any hope. He always had a way to find Geralt every time they parted ways, and this time is not different. He will find him. He knows he will.

He questioned every innkeeper or barkeeper he found on his way, but no one heard about the White Wolf. Every single one of them asked him to sing his song, so maybe their patrons would remember of who Jaskier is talking about, but he is so tired, and he knows by experience that the keepers just wants him to bring new customers to their locals, they doesn't care about Geralt. So he just sings when he needs the money, otherwise he just keeps walking to the next town, ready to follow every leads that could bring him to a recently free–monsters village that surely had the help of a Witcher.

Jaskier is now in one of them, sitting in a shitty tavern to eat shitty food and to drink shitty ale, after talking with the barkeeper to obtain nothing more than a shrug. Ugh. He deserves better from life, damn it.

A shadow obscures the table he is eating on, and at first Jaskier just thinks that it's the barmaid coming to bring him more ale, but when he raises his eyes, he sees a slender man with a bored expression – and yes, he's not blind, he clearly sees the two big scary swords behind his back, so he's a Witcher. Unluckily, he's not the Witcher he is searching for – not even close, considering that the medallion on his neck doesn't have a wolf in it.

Behind him, there is another one, with a big ass scar across his right eye. He has a mischievous grin on that Jaskier doesn't really like, “Uhm. Yes?”

“We heard that you are searching for a Witcher.” says the slender one, cocking his head.

“Well, yes. You both are clearly not him, and no, I'm not searching for _a_ Witcher, I am searching for a very _specific_ Witcher. Sorry to disappoint, I have no job for you.”

The one behind snorts, “Let's go Aiden, we are just wasting time.”

While they're heading for the tavern's exit, the other one's medallion catches Jaskier's attention and, fuck, if he's not wrong–

He gets up, leaving a bunch of coins on the table – hoping they are enough – and follows them outside. The sun is already set, and the little town is bathed in the golden hour, but there is already an unpleasant chill that makes him shiver. He's not afraid of Witchers, c'mon, he has enough experience knowing that they are the only good people remained on the whole Continent – well, at least Geralt definitely is – and their only fault is, uhm, not being emotional. Too consipated.

So he doesn't waver when he stops the two Witchers. They actually really stops when they hear his voice, and not–Aiden gives him a long, knowing look that, somehow, gets on his nerves.

His medallion is different from Aiden's.

“Don't, uh, bite me, alright?” he begs, while getting closer to not–Aiden, who's not stopping him even when Jaskier, without thinking, grabs his medallion between his trembling fingers to examine it. Yes. It is definitely a wolf. “I'm Jaskier, and, uh, do you know Geralt?”

“Your brother?” asks Aiden to not–Aiden, who sneers.

“Ah, yes. Jaskier. Geralt's bard. Lately Geralt was worse than ever, all because of you. Pining all the winter, walking through the corridors of Kaer Morhen like a ghost. Just because a human died? Humans die all the time.”

“Lambert–”

“Let me finish, Aiden. Why are you searching for Geralt?”

“Well, uh, let me think, _Lambert_.” Jaskier puts a fingers against his lips, in mock concentration, “Maybe because I _did not fucking die_ and I want him to know that? Why do you think I am searching for him, you oaf?”

Geralt has a brother, apparently. He has a brother and that brother is an awful dick. Jaskier doesn't like the way Lambert is talking about Geralt's pain, so this means that he doesn't like Lambert at all. Such a prick he is. Ugh.

“Yeah, I thought so.” Lambert grins, but then he shuts up and nudges at Aiden.

“Wait,” Jaskier stops them again, “just tell me where he is.”

“Do I look like a sorcerer to you? I can't put a tracking spell on him, so no, bardling, I don't know where Geralt is.”

“Okay, _fine_. You're insufferable!” he blurts out, and Aiden just nods. “Can you _at least_ tell him that I'm alive next time you see him, oh mighty arsehole of a Witcher?”

“Of course...” Lambert bares this teeth in a menacing smile, “...not.”

“ _Excuse me_?”

“Next time he'll take better care of what is his. All the winters, complaining about your singing and your chattering and your fucking around, like a lovesick idiot. If he so much wanted you out of his hair, let him think that you died then.”

Jaskier tightens his lips, “That's cruel.”

“Oh, yes. I am an arsehole, after all.” Lambert shrugs and Aiden nods again. “Good luck on your search, bardling. But let me tell ya, I preferred a lot the Geralt's who just stayed in a corner wallowing in grief, then one who just cannot appreciate what he has and _complains_.”

Jaskier is speechless after that. He just stays there, in front of the tavern's door, looking as the backs of the Witchers get farther and farther from him.

At last, he brings cupped hands in front of his mouth and screams: “I hope Aiden won't let you fuck him tonight, you _prick_!”

He scrambles back into the tavern without waiting for an answer.

But he doesn't agree with Lambert one bit, because Geralt yeah, he totally believes that he complained a lot about him, but he did take care of him, plenty of times. No matter what he said in a whim, too much enraged to really think that his words cut worse than his sword – one single mistake won't take away twenty years of care and love.

He bows so much that he nearly touches his knees with his nose, but that awesome audience deserve all his gratitude, while they're throwing coins upon coins at his feet. And here he thought that hearbroken songs wouldn't bring money in his pockets, he has now the proof that he was so, so wrong. Expecially when in his audience there are fair maidens that sniffs and blinks their tears away as his words escape from his talented mouth.

“Thank you, my wonderful people, thank you so much.” he exclaims, while collecting his well earned coins, “Now I must end my performance, but you are definitely the best audience a humble bard like me ever had!”

While he retreats, out of the corner of his eyes he see a painfully familiar silhouette and he groans mentally, trying to escape to the rented room of that inn he was performing in. He runs as if he has a devil in tow, going up the stairs two at the time, but it is not enough to stop _her_. Ugh. Not her. Everyone – Melitele, even Lambert – is better than her.

“Jaskier.”

“Yennefer.”

She is as beautiful as always, and, uh, as scary as always. Her tight black dress leaves no room to imagination, her black raven hair smell like lilac and goosebarries – and her eyes are throwing sparks at him as if his very presence is a terrible mistake.

“Are you running away from me, bard?”

“How could I, you're so charming.” he says, his voice full of sarcasm.

Yennefer smiles, and it is terrifying. “Why don't you offer me a drink? You earned enough for a good red wine, with that saccarine song you performed tonight.”

Jaskier winces. Well, considering that inside the song she was the antagonist, she must not have liked it too much. Sad. Jaskier thinks that he represents her at her best, after all. “Why, you cannot pay yourself a glass of wine, my dear?”

“Of course I can, but considering that it is thanks to _me_ that _you_ actually can afford the best wine of the house, the least you can do is offer me a glass. Shall we, bard?”

Shit. Well, not all evil comes to harm – maybe she knows something about Geralt, as much as the thought about the two of them spending their time together pains him. What's important is just finding Geralt, make sure he is not drowing too much in guilt, that he is safe and sound. He'll think about the rest when it will come.

He sits at her table, while she, with a smile, asks the waitress to bring them one of their best red. Oh, fuck. Goodbye to the money he gained today, and here he thought that maybe he could have bought brand new shoes!

Since he doesn't want to waste too much time, expecially in Yennefer's company, he starts to ask her if she heard of Geralt, but she's quicker than him. “I see you forgave him.”

“The second my anger dimmed.” he tells her, sincerily. He of course knows who she is referring to, and even though he have no idea _how_ she knows what happened up that mountain when she just left, he chooses to be honest with her. She may be of help. “Yennefer, I know that you think I am an idiot, but really, I am not. Expecially when we are talking about love. So I know that Geralt loves me, in a very personal fucked up way. After twenty years, I just know that he cares, and I don't need some harsh words or a mistake to let me think otherwise. He might not be good with talking, but I can compensate that. He might never tell me how important I am or–”

“But he is able to, Jaskier. He told me that I am important to him. He smiled at me, he opened up to me, but not to you, not even after twenty years.”

“Then it must be true love.” he murmurs, and thanks the waitress when she brings the two glasses full of perfumed red wine. But he is kind of nauseous now, he doesn't think he will drink not even a sip.

It hurts to say those words, but it is okay. He made peace with it years ago, after all, when he saw with his very eyes Yennefer obtaining what he longed for so much time with just a flutter of her lashes. If she is what makes Geralt finally happy, so be it – he swore that he would never get Geralt's way if he can help it. So he won't.

But fuck if it hurts.

“I doubt it.” she says, with a grimaces, “It's the Djinn wish.”

“Maybe. Or maybe not.”

Silence falls between them, while Yennefer sips her wine. Jaskier just scratches the wood of the table under his glass, careful to not take any splinters under his nails.

It's Yennefer again that breaks it, “How do you do that?”

“Do what?”

She moves her hand up and down, “This. How do you love so much when it's not even worth it? I just feel so much anger towards him, I don't know if I am able to forgive and forget.”

“Who says that it's not worth it?” Yennefer just raises a delicate eyebrow, and he sighs, “I don't know, Yennefer, but I can say that I won't forget. Forgive, yes, but never forget. Maybe I'm just an idiot like you say.”

She bares her teeth, while she smiles, “Maybe. Or maybe not. But if I'm sure of one thing, bard, is that he cares about you. He's just too stupid to appreciate it.”

Jaskier smiles, “I bet that you have no idea where he is, right?” he asks, even though he is pretty sure of that: as long as their conversation is going, it is evident that she doesn't see Geralt since the dragon hunt.

In fact, she shakes her head. Another waste of time.

But nonetheless, he stays there talking with Yennefer all the evening – and she even agrees to continue their arguing over Geralt in his rented room. That night he gets drunk, and he probably cries a bit on Yennefer's shoulder before he collapses.

The next day, Yennefer is nowhere to be seen. She paid for the wine, it seems, because his purse is as full as it was right after his performance.

It's been a year since the dragon hunt, and the cold is knocking again at the Continent's door, but Jaskier still hasn't found Geralt anyhere. He knows he can't continue to travel during the winter, so he must go back to Oxenfurt, but here it is, the last strand of hope – one last trail, before he admits his defeat against Destiny. If he is lucky enough, Lambert, in the end, will tell Geralt that he saw his bard anyway – just to mock him, sure, but that would be enough nonetheless.

He is somewhere near Kerack now. The sun is almost set, and very ominous shadows are looming around the forest that surrounds him, but still, Jaskier is moving on. His lute is silent, safe in its case on his shoulder, and his feet are trying not to make too much noise, because yes, this is the time where he will fucking die for real. And not out of heartbreak, as he always feared, but just because he's been too much of a idiot and followed a Witcher where he is supposed to fight against a bruxa.

He clearly heard the men back in the tavern he was performing not even two hours ago. They seemed on guard, and they didn't want to be heard while arguing about the Witcher that _probably_ escaped with their pay, because it's been a whole day and he didn't come back to his bruxa hunt. Shit. Shit, Jaskier couldn't ignore that fact, because okay yes, there is the possibility that he is just running to his inevitable demise, or worse to Lambert, but the Witcher that didn't come back from his contract could very well be Geralt – and what if he is injuried? What if he is there, in that abandoned house, bleeding his life away?

He shivers just at the thought. He needs to find out if the Witcher is Geralt or not, at least for his own sanity.

The abandoned house is eerie and so fucking creepy, all around he can hear birds singing softly and disturbingly low, and Jaskier would bet his hands that there is something lurking in the shadows, looking right at him, ready to jump at him at the first good occasion – but let's not linger in the details, shall we? Jaskier has a mission, and if he lets the fear stop him, he will never move again. Or breathe again, because in that case he'll be a utterly stupid easy pray.

“Geralt?” he murmurs, entering into the house, “Uhm.”

He knows that Geralt would hear him, no matter how loud he calls for him – the silent is now deafening, it gives him the creep. His brand new shoes creek against the floor and he winces, but still he hears nothing.

Until he does.

He raises his head toward the soft laugh that, yes, it _definitely_ gives him the creep, and he sees a lovely lady with long, wild red hair. “Uh,” he stupidly says, taking a step away from her. She is beautiful, and in any other situation he would be more than happy to comply any sorts of caprice she has, but he is not as stupid as to do that in an abandoned house where there is a bruxa somewhere. Hell, he is quite sure she is said bruxa, so. “You're not Geralt.”

The bruxa smiles, and her features twists disturbingly – and ugh, she loses all her appeal like this! Jaskier almost says that out loud, but the bruxa sprints towards him and what can a poor bard like him do in this situations? He just starts to run, and it may not have been the most clever thing he's ever done in his life, considering that running away means that he's given her his back, but well. Shit happens all the time.

He trips and fall face down to the floor – ouch – but even though he is waiting for one of the bruxa's hand to just stab him somewhere in his back, nothing comes. He stays still, as he hears the hiss of a sword and the screech of the creature, then the bruxa's head just rolls and stops right in front of his face. Hers is stopped in time with an ominous grimace.

He– he probably screams at that point, but he's not sure.

He turns around until he's on his back, and someone is crunching at his side, looking at him with a curious gaze.

After the scream, Jaskier pouts at that point. “You're still not Geralt.”

The man shakes his head. “I'm not. I'm Eskel.”

“I've no idea who you are.”

“I know you, though. Are you fine?”

“In shock, but apart from that I'm relatively good.” Jaskier accepts the hand Eskel is offering him, to help him stand. “Oh, Gods, that was _horrible_. I thought I've got used to this kind of things after travelling with a Witcher for not one, not two, but _twenty_ years, but nope. Not at all.”

“Humans never get used to this, don't worry.”

Jaskier glances at the Witcher in front of him. The medallion has a wolf in it, so this Witcher must know Geralt – and, ugh, Lambert too. He has a kind face, though, so Jaskier doesn't think that he is a prick like Lambert. Sure, the big ass scars on the side of his face are scary as fuck, but not because he seems threatening, far from it actually. “It was easier when I had Geralt in my back and call. If Geralt was here, I wouldn't have been so scared, because he wouldn't let anything bad happen to me.”

“You seem quite sure of it.”

Jaskier nods, and follows as Eskel grabs the bruxa's head and heads out of the abandoned house, “I totally am. He saved my life _pleeenty_ of times. This,” with a hand he shows his surrounding, lingering for a second more where the bloody bruxa's body is laying, “This is nothing compared to our past adventures.”

Eskel smiles, and his scars stretches a bit.

“Uhm. So, do you know Geralt?”

“Since before the Trial, Jaskier.”

“Oh?” Jaskier tilts his head, “You know me?”

“It's hard not to, considering that Geralt cannot seem to stop talking about you during the winters.” Hearing this, Jaskier's heart beats like crazy, “This winter, though, he was brooding more than usual, and all because you... died? You seem very much alive to me.”

“Yes, yes, you see, this is the problem. I'm _trying_ to do the right thing, alright? It's been almost a year since I started this journey searching for Geralt and he seems to be completely disappeared? First I find that prick with his boyfriend that didn't want to tell me where Geralt is or at least tell him that I'm fine! Then I find Yennefer and all she did was just getting me awfully drunk and then... you. Please, Eskel. Be of help. At least _you_. You seem a good fellow.”

“A good fellow...” repeates Eskel, sounding amused, “Thanks, I guess. You want to know where Geralt is?”

“Yes! Ohw, I _knew_ you were different from Lambert...!”

“But I don't know where he is.”

Jaskier gasps, and presses the back of his hand against his forehead, “Fool me not, please!”

“No, really, I have no idea, but when I'll see him, I'll let him know that you are safe.”

“Ohw, I _knew_ you were to be trusted! Tell him that I'll be at Oxenfurt, please, and be sure that inside his thick head he'll get that he has never ever again to believe a word from Valdo Marx.”

Eskel nods, then nudges at him towards the forest. Jaskier follows him without wavering, and Eskel appears to be walking slower than his usual just so Jaskier doesn't have to run after him. Geralt needs some private lesson from his brother in this, definitely.

“C'mon, little bardling, Oxenfurt is on my way to Kaer Morhen, I'll keep you company for a while. Would you like to know some stories about Geralt when he was young? I have a lot of embarrassing ones that I'm pretty sure you'll like.”

Jaskier feels himself combust out of affection for Geralt, and he _can't wait_ to know the things he doesn't – and what he understands in this journey of his is that there are a lot of things he didn't know about Geralt. He didn't know of his family, he didn't know the amout of care Geralt has towards him, he didn't know that Geralt can actually talk a lot about him when he is not around.

He hopes that one day he can talk about all of this with Geralt.

“You are my favourite persone alive at the moment, Eskel. I'm all ears!”

Cintra fell.

And the Battle of Sodden comes and goes.

Jaskier looks out his window, following the trail the snow is making while falling. Oxenfurt is far away from the upcoming war, but it seems to becoming colder, grayer, its abitants aren't walking the streets in their most colorful attires – hell, even his students aren't making questions upon questions about his travels and Witchers. Nilfgaard is far away, but it can very well be at Oxenfurt's door and nothing would change.

He's written down all Eskel's stories about Geralt in his journal, but he's not in the right mood to make a cheerful song about a little Geralt that wanted to ride a boar and got lost in the woods around Kaer Morhen on the animal's back.

He sighs as he draws nonsense on the condensation of the window. It's almost midwinter, so there is not even a remote possibility that Geralt can manage to reach Oxenfurt now – with or without the war looming above their heads.

Suddenly, he jumps on the spot when he hears a commotion somewhere in the univesity – if he's not wrong, it's from the common room. He hears a scream, and that voice resembles so much like Valdo's that he sprints towards the door, because he would never miss the possible demise of that infamous man. He still hasn't killed him, just because he was too depressed about his failure in finding Geralt, but he hasn't acceptrf him in his bed again. Gods, ugh, disgusting, how could he have hated himself so much to accept such a horrible minstrel near his body is beyond his comprehension.

“Julian!” Valdo whines the moment he sees Jaskier rushing in the common room, “Julian, do something!”

Essi sighs as she comes beside Jaskier and gives him a caress as a greeting, “Uhm, Valdo, he's not doing anything...”

But Jaskier isn't looking at her, or at Valdo for that matter – he would never look at Valdo, ugh, disgusting – but in the middle of the common room, dresses in black and with a coat that covers his sparkingly white hair, Geralt shifts unconfortably, but glaring at Valdo as if he is the reason of all his trouble. He knows that glare. It's the same glare that Geralt threw at him that day on that mountain.

Jaskier shivers at the memory, but he won't let that stop him. “Geralt. Hello there.” he says, cheerfully, then winces because ugh, that was even more awkward than the whole situation.

Geralt stops incinerating Valdo with his eyes and raises his head to look at Jaskier, still under the arch of the common room's door. And something seems to shatter in Geralt's face – oh Gods, yes, Valdo was right, he has the word _pain_ written so clearly in his expression that his heart aches at that sight. Shit. He needs to talk to him now, and in private; they really don't need all the students and professors – hell, not Valdo – to be the witnesses of Geralt's breakdown.

Breathing in, Jaskier stomps to Geralt and grabs his hands, “Oh, dear. You seem _exhausted_ , Geralt, you definitely need a rest. Come, we can kill Valdo tomorrow, don't worry.”

Valdo whines, his back attached to the farthest wall, “Julian, that's not funny!”

Jaskier ignores him, he doesn't deserve an answer. He pulls Geralt's arm to drag him out of there, giving Essi just a smile on his way to the door. They keep silent as they reach Jaskier's room. Geralt not once tries to remove his hand from his.

When his door closes behind their back, Jaskier sighs, “Well.” he starts to say, but then shuts up when he feels Geralt's head bumping on his shoulder. He feels the warmth Geralt's body is radiating right against his back and whatever he's wanted to say died in his throat.

“I thought you died.”

Jaskier swallows. He feels ashes on his tongue, “I didn't.” then chuckles, trying to lighten their mood, “You have to stop ignoring my blabbing, Geralt, or else you'd have known to not trust Valdo's words.”

Geralt winces at his words and Jaskier wants to punch himself. Later he will use all the frustration he has collected in the past year against Valdo, he swears to the Gods.

“Uhm, how did you get here?” asks then, “It's a long way under the snow from Kaer Morhen...”

“Yennefer portalled me here as soon as I talked to Eskel.”

Jaskier slowly turns around, forcing Geralt to raise his head from his shoulder. He misses the contact the second he loses it. “Is she fine? I heard about Sodden.”

“She is. She's just drained, but fine.” Geralt's eyes are blinking and shining as they catch the light from the fireplace, “Cirilla's too. She is at Kaer Morhen.”

Cirilla of Cintra. His Child Surprise. He's thought she died when Cintra fell – but no, of course not, Geralt wouldn't let that happen. His chest swells with pride. “Nilfgaard is searching for you both. But then again, if I didn't find you anywhere, they hardly have more chances than me.”

“Nilfgaard is searching for you too, Jaskier. They might use you to get to me and–” he huffs an irritated breath, “Come with me to Kaer Morhen, Yennefer is waiting for us just out of Oxenfurt.”

Jaskier basks in Geralt's presence. Gods, he's missed him so, so much that now having him so close it's overwhelming. But still, those words, that glare – it's hard to forget. He'll never forget. He may have forgiven him almost immediately, because he knows how he is, he knows Geralt didn't mean what he said, that he didn't really want for life to take Jaskier out of his hands. And he probably now is so full of guilt – and even after all of this, Geralt would never let anything happen to him – and with the war knocking at their door, it's too dangerous for Jaskier to be without, well, without someone protecting him. Not that he knows crucial things right now, he doesn't even know _where_ Kaer Morhen is, but Geralt wouldn't take any chances for him to be tortured for informations.

These are the only reasons. _Don't get ahead of yourself_ , he thinks, bitterly. Geralt may love him, kinda. But not enough. Not after the dragon hunt.

He sinks into his golden eyes, that ligheted by the fire they seem even more beautiful than ever. Jaskier never saw them so close before. “Here I'm safe, Geralt. I'm professor Julian here, not Jaskier the bard.” he smiles, hesitating just a bit.

Geralt frowns, and breathes through gritted teeth. For a second, Jaskier thinks that Geralt is gonna get mad at him, but when he sees him taking a step back and crouching until he is on his knees in front of him, he widens his eyes and starts to blab something incoherent.

What Geralt understands of his stuttering is probably just a “What the fuck are you doing?!” because he then locks his golden eyes in his and puts his hands on his knees, his head slightly bended. “I'm doing what I was supposed to do the second I yelled at you up that mountain, Jaskier. I can't really blame you if you are so reluctant to follow me now, after the things I said.”

“Geralt–”

“Let me talk, Jaskier. I don't deserve your forgiveness, I'm not asking you to give me that. I just want you to know that I regret every single word I said, and I didn't mean any of it. I don't blame you for the things happened to me, and the last thing I want is... is to have you away from me. It was even worse when I actually didn't saw you waiting for me where we left Roach, because you... you were really gone, and I _really_ fucked up everything, whatever we... were, or could have been. I tried to find you again, but then...” he stops and inhales a trembling breath, squeezing his eyes. “I don't want you to forgive me, Jaskier. But I don't want to feel that _terror_ and _pain_ ever again, so all I ask of you is to come with me to Kaer Morhen, and be safe right before my eyes. _Please_.”

Well. That's unexpected. He stays for maybe a whole minute just gaping at Geralt with his mouth so ungracefully open, and Geralt doesn't even make a noise of protest. He just stays there, on his knees, looking how Jaskier is trying to make order inside his head.

“First of all,” he finally says, waiving a finger at him, “get up and sit on a fucking chair, godsdamnit, Geralt. Second, you can't tell me what to do, so if I want to forgive you, I will you ungrateful bastard. And third, yeah, okay, _fine_ , I'll come with you. Happy now?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Very well. Shall we go? Can't let Yennefer wait too much under the snow. Oh, wait, I _can_. I need to gather my things first and say goodbye to all my friends and of course I didn't forget about killing Valdo, so oh Gods it'll take so much time to hide his displeasing body, I hope she won't freeze to death in the meantime, that would be a shame.”

“I missed you.”

Jaskier trips as he walks to reach his bed, “W–W–What? Gods, Geralt, _get up_ from the floor I said!”

Geralt smiles, softly and Jaskier's heart loses a beat or two. Finally, he stands and gets closer, until just a breath or air separates them, “It was easier to complain about your whining and chattering when I knew for certain that there will be a next time. The silence was unbearable when I knew you would never break it again.”

Jaskier closes his eyes, so he doesn't have to look at the pain in Geralt's face anymore. Gods, he doesn't know what he would have done in his place, but he knows how to feel better at least. “Fuck. I have to punch Valdo fucking Marx now, for daring to make you feel this way–”

Geralt stops him, grabbing him by the shoulder so he cannot stomp off to _disintegrate_ that miserable that has the courage to call himself a trobadour. “No need. Let's just go, Jaskier.”

“Unf.” he snorts, and relents, “Uh, Geralt, you know that...” he trails off, and yes, grundgingly he blushes. Embarrassing.

“Hm?”

He starts to fidget a hem of his doublet, “I don't want you to regret bringing me to Kaer Morhen, so I want to make it clear that I feel... deeply for you. I mean, you probably already know that I _kinda_ , uh, am in love with you. In spite of everything, I still do. So, I don't want to be a problem for you and Yennefer, that's it.”

Geralt stares at him intensely, and Jaskier's legs feel wobbly under his gaze, “You won't be a problem.”

“But, Geralt–”

Geralt snorts, “I said that you _definitely_ won't be a problem. Try to understand.”

Jaskier tries, he really does. But he doesn't want to delude himself – not again – and get burned as he already did. So he won't linger in the sweet thought of Geralt loving him back – because he knows he does, but he is scared that his fucked up way will not be enough again.

It will not be enough.

But now they'll take it easy, at least. No more lashing out, or mean blessings.

And now Geralt is aware of Jaskier's feelings – and his own, he hopes.

“Fine. You won. Shall we go, then? Sadly we don't have enough time to kill Valdo, but when things will get less dangerous, that dick won't see the light of the sun ever again.”

Jaskier cannot even take a step away from Geralt, though, because Geralt's hands close around his face and his lips caresses softly against his, then he inhales deeply, as if to impress his perfume in his mind. “Jaskier.” he sighs, as if he still can't quite believe he is here, in front of him.

And Gods, he loves him so much.

“C'mon, Geralt. Time to go. Yennefer's waiting.”

Jaskier surrenders to the temptation and kisses him, quick but sweet nonetheless, then gives one last look at his room, grabs his lute and his bag, then catches Geralt's hand.

And he never lets go.

**Author's Note:**

> I really don't know why I wrote this. I swear, though, that in my mind was different - but alas, here is the result.  
> Please be kind. ♥


End file.
